Doing It Over
Page 8

After introductions and another attempt at winking out of Hope, they started back into the garage. “Jo dropped in earlier, said this was your car. I took the liberty of taking it apart.”
If there was one person she could trust under the hood more than Mr. Miller, it was Mr. Miller’s son.
“Your dad says it’s bad.”
“Our car died,” Hope said from the side.
“It sure did,” Luke agreed.
“What are we going to drive if our car is dead, Mommy?”
Melanie glanced at Hope. “I’m sure Luke and Mr. Miller can fix it.”
Only one look at Luke and that assurance blew away. “Or not.”
Hope drew her brows together with worry. “But we need a car.”
“It will be okay, baby.”
“Hey, Hope?” Mr. Miller distracted her. “Do you know what the best part about having a broken car is?”
She shook her head.
“Auto shops always have fresh donuts. Do you like donuts?”
She bobbed her head and took his hand, before Mr. Miller led her down the hall and into the office.
“Is it that bad?” Melanie asked once Hope was gone.
“Nothing that a little C-4 and the back of Grayson’s farm won’t take care of.”
“C’mon . . .”
“How long was the oil light on, Mel?” Luke ran a hand over his slightly long hair and stared at her.
“It’s always on. I topped off the oil in Redding.”
“Topping off means some of it ran out . . . did it take the entire quart?”
“Yeah.”
“Did the oil light go off?”
“No. It went on in Modesto, flickered on more than off ever since.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “You can’t ignore the oil light, Mel.”
“I didn’t ignore it. I gave it oil.”
Luke stepped over to a workstation and waved a part in front of her. “Your oil pan had a hole in it. The slow leak gave you a nice trail to follow back to Bakersfield. Do you know what happens when your engine doesn’t get oil?”
“It’s like gas, right? The car stops running . . . but you put oil in and it’s all good.”
Luke squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Oh, Mel.”
“I’m not right?”
“Nowhere close. A car without oil can only run dry for so long, then after miles of sputtering and bitching at you, she flips you the bird and cracks. You cracked the block, Mel.”
“That’s bad?” She really didn’t know.
Luke lifted one brow in the air. “Do you have any idea how bad I want to tell a blonde joke right now?”
“How do you fix a cracked block?”
“You don’t,” Luke told her. “You put in a whole new engine. With the condition of this car, our advice is to cut your losses and start over.”
“I can’t afford a new car, Luke.”
He sighed. “That’s what I thought.”
“How much does a new engine cost?”
“These foreign cars usually run a good twenty-five hundred just for the engine.”
Melanie felt her eyes widen. “Dollars? Twenty-five hundred dollars?”
“See why I think you should find another used car?”
If she had twenty-five hundred bucks, she probably would. At least her decision was an easy one. She couldn’t afford the repair, so C-4 in a back field it was.
She reached into her purse and removed her wallet.
“What are you doing?” Luke asked.
“Paying for the tow and what you’ve done.”
Luke waved her off. “Your money isn’t any good here, Mel.”
“I can afford to pay for your time.”
“My time is cheap. Buy me a beer at R&B’s.”
She knew she wasn’t going to win, so she returned her wallet. “You’re on.”
CHAPTER THREE
It was well past noon when Melanie pulled Jo’s Jeep into the driveway of Miss Gina’s Bed-and-Breakfast. Like everything else in town, the footprint was the same. The shrubs had grown, a new tree planted here, a new rosebush there . . . the place could use a coat of paint and the gravel on the driveway was in need of a dusting of whatever it was they used to maintain it.
As Hope and Melanie walked up the stairs, she realized the place needed a bit more than paint. It wasn’t run down . . . not like the motels in Bakersfield, but it wasn’t exactly what Melanie remembered.
The bell on the door rang as she and Hope stepped inside. Like most B and Bs, the old Victorian was made up of small rooms, each of which served a purpose when the house was built at the turn of the twentieth century. To be fair, they served a purpose now . . . only one was a large dining area where a parlor once stood.
When she was a kid, Zoe would sometimes pick up a few hours of work with Miss Gina. Mainly in the kitchen on busy holidays and summer weekends. Jo would complain as she raked leaves in the fall, and Melanie would answer phones and occasionally make a bed or clean a floor. The three of them had enjoyed hanging with Miss Gina and her colorful mouth. The lady never treated any of them like they were kids. She treated them as equals. In a small town, that went a long way.
Before Melanie moved past the threshold, she knelt down to her daughter. “I’ve known Miss Gina for a very long time. She’s harmless, even though she uses bad words sometimes. Be polite.”
“Sometimes you use bad words.”
“Not like Miss Gina,” Melanie all but mumbled.
Hope sent her a look she’d seen in her own face more times than she’d care to admit. Disbelief manifested in a high brow and a cock of the head. Melanie would laugh if Hope’s subtle attitude wasn’t spot-on.